


Covered In My Skin

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas Says Inappropriate Things in Public, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Learning Experiences for Angels, M/M, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sensuality, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year ago, Castiel would have never thought he could be fascinated by the smell of Dean Winchester’s body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Covered In My Skin

A year ago, Castiel would have never thought he could be fascinated by the smell of Dean Winchester’s body. 

If someone had tried to tell him he would be, he thinks he would have looked at them uncomprehendingly and wondered what they meant. 

Skin was skin was skin. Bodies were bodies.

A year ago, he had not been _in_ a body -- and certainly not in a body near _another_ body -- long enough to know that neither of those things were true: skin was _not_ simply skin and Dean's body was unlike any other he had seen.

The smell of Dean clings to his fingertips, his palms, his wrists, his lips. It defies hot water, soap, dirt, blood, salt, holy water, and gun oil.

If he goes to brush hair off his forehead or wave away a fly, he can get a whiff of Dean that will send his thoughts scattering. It’s rich, salty, musky -- a smell he can never get away from and does not wish to lose.

* * *

Which may be why he is staring at his palm when Dean’s elbow catches him between the ribs. He jerks upright and glares at Dean.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Dean grits out between his teeth, keeping the mockery of a pleasant smile on his face so, to Castiel at least, he looks a little manic. 

Castiel assumes that no-one else in the sun-warmed waiting room notices, though, given that the secretary working behind his desk does not look up, no-one at the ranges of desks behind the Plexiglas wall stops their incessant phone-calling, and no armed guards run out to query Dean’s sanity.

‘I can smell you,’ Castiel answers, trying to pitch his voice at what he thinks is an appropriate level.

Dean chokes and his cheekbones have a sudden stain of dark red. ‘You...you _what?’_ Then he reaches out as if to clap a hand over Castiel’s mouth, thinks better of it, and sits on his own hand, turning around to face the rest of the room again. 

‘It is from last night,’ Castiel supplies helpfully, carefully folding his hands in his lap. 

‘Dude--’

‘When you become sufficiently excited--’

_‘Cas.’_

‘--your skin has the most--’

‘Shut _up.’_ Dean spins on him again, eyes bright, cheeks pink. ‘Cas, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up right this fucking minute--’

‘Mr. Driftwood? Mr. Claypool?’ 

* * *

That night, Castiel tries again. 

Running a hand over the small of Dean’s back, feeling the light sheen of sweat on the younger man’s skin, he says softly: ‘You smell good.’

Dean laughs, the sound echoing through Castiel’s chest as Dean leans against him. ‘I smell sweaty, Cas.’

Castiel shifts position slightly, easing his knees around Dean’s thighs, and hears the slight intake of breath that he wanted and feels the nudge of Dean’s cock against the inside of his thigh. ‘You smell wonderful. I can smell you on my hands for days -- every time we do this. Every time I move, I can smell you on me.’

‘Jesus...’ Dean jerks involuntarily, one of his hands clenching tight on Castiel’s bare hip. ‘Is that -- is that what you were talking about today?’

Castiel nods, licking a long, wide stripe over Dean’s collarbone, nudging against the underside of his chin with his forehead, urging Dean’s head back so he can continue to press kisses along the other side of Dean’s throat. 

Dean laughs again, a little breathily. ‘Well, y’ever want to see me ruin a pair of suit pants, Cas... you just say that again.’

Castiel smiles against Dean’s throat and smooths his hand up Dean’s arm, over his shoulder, down between their bodies, stroking over the length of Dean’s erection to his own, shuddering slightly at the touch, feeling the muscles of Dean’s abdomen tense against the back of his hand, the backs of his fingers. He keeps his hand there, going back and forth, fingers stroking them together, bumping over the heads of their cocks, becoming firmer as Dean’s breathing gets shallower. 

He leans forward, licks along the curve of Dean’s earlobe, tasting sweat and shampoo. ‘I can smell you on my hands.’

Dean jerks and moans softly, a gutteral sound in the back of his throat, and digs his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder.

‘I can _always_ smell you on my hands, Dean.’ Castiel leans down and presses a quick kiss to the scar on Dean’s shoulder, then buries his face in the curve of Dean’s neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Skin," Breaking Benjamin, _Saturate_.
> 
> And your guess is as good as mine as to who's [Driftwood](http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0015669/) and who's [Claypool](http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0015675/).


End file.
